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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he could really charge more, especially if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, however you 'd be shocked how many men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful often too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. None of the men paying for me wanted a female, just a girl, and understanding that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it. I had a talent for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and live with them. They were in love with who I pretended to be for that brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a person who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the male who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I could talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and special and liked. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it.
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